


A Drop in the Ocean

by magicbubblepipe



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Anal Sex, Angst, John Winchester is a douchebag, Love, M/M, Pre-Stanford, Sibling Incest, Wincest - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-28
Updated: 2013-06-28
Packaged: 2017-12-16 09:39:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,753
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/860670
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/magicbubblepipe/pseuds/magicbubblepipe
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It starts when John isn't there for Sam's graduation and Dean is. But it really started long before that.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Drop in the Ocean

**Author's Note:**

> _A drop in the ocean_  
>  A change in the weather  
> I was prayin’ that you and me might end up together  
> It’s like wishin’ for rain as I stand in the desert   
> But I’m holding you closer than most  
> Cause you are my heaven 

“What is it, Dean?”

            Dean stares down at the phone in his hand, disappointment a leaden weight in his gut. How can he say it?  

            “I know you were talking to Dad. I think I’m old enough to handle whatever it is he’s-

            “It’s your graduation, Sammy,” Dean cuts him off, reluctantly lifting his gaze to meet his brother’s. “He can’t make it.”

            Sam’s face slides through a whirlwind of emotions in a matter of seconds. Dean can tell from the tilt of his eyebrows and the movement of his jaw that Sam’s about to cry and he just can’t take that. And then it changes. Anger clouds his expression and his eyes harden in a very un-Sam way that makes Dean’s stomach clench.

            “Yeah. What else is new,” he finally says with a voice that seems to be strung too tight and slumps back off to their bedroom.

            Dean stands alone in the small living room, feeling sick and more angry at their father than he’s ever been. He thinks if he weren’t 300 miles away, he would strangle him. Instead he ploughs his fist through the drywall.

 

…

 

            Dean is the only family member present at Sam’s high school graduation and yet his voice can still be heard over the crowd as Sam crosses the stage. And when he comes down the stairs on the other side, diploma in hand, Dean’s waiting for him, smiling so hard it hurts. He hops the short rail separating the spectators from the students and crushes Sam against his chest.

            “I’m so proud of you, Sammy,” he whispers fiercely into his ear before they pull apart and Sam has to rejoin the other grads in their seats.

            His dad isn’t there but Sam can barely bring himself to care. His eyes connect with Dean’s from where he sits and they beam at each other. He couldn’t be happier.

 

…

 

            Dean’s leaning against the Impala when Sam emerges from the building, cap and gown shoved under his arm. “There’s my grad,” he crows, clapping Sam on the back. “Whataya say we go out for dinner celebrate?”

            Sam snorts as they slide into the car, “Where, McDonalds?”

            “Ye of little faith,” Dean shakes his head and produces a wad of cash from the glove compartment. “I saved up. We can go anywhere you want.”

            “No way, Dean,” Sam laughs, pushing his brother’s shoulder playfully. “You did that for me?”

            “Yeah, yeah, don’t get all squishy about it,” he grumps fondly, shifting Baby into gear.

 

            They end up at a Texas Roadhouse (they’re actually in Texas at the moment so why the hell not?). The steaks are awesome and according to Sam, the salads aren’t half bad either. It’s all rabbit food to Dean. They laugh and joke and power through three baskets of rolls and honey butter before they decide to hit the road. By Dean’s suggestion, they stop off for a case of beer and wind up renting a stack of movies from the nearby rental place.

            It’s nearly midnight when they make it back to the small rental house they’ve been holed up in for the past three months. They collapse together on the old flea bitten couch, already cracking open a couple beers and bickering over what movie to watch first. Sam doesn’t remember the last time he was this perfectly content and Dean hasn’t stopped smiling all evening. Most of all, they don’t miss John.

            They make it through Wayne’s World and half way through the sequel before Sam starts to snore quietly, slumped towards Dean. Smirking down at his younger brother, Dean beats down the impulse to pet his shaggy hair. “C’mon sleeping beauty,” he says instead, jostling Sam with his shoulder.

            The younger boy makes a startled snuffling sound and sits upright like he wasn’t just sound asleep. Dean chuckles and stands, flicking off the old TV set. He extends a hand and wraps it around Sam’s forearm when it’s offered, hauling him to his feet. Dean shuffles Sam into their shared bedroom and out of his shoes and jacket with years of experience. Sam, now sitting on the bed, is still half asleep and a little bit drunk but it still surprises Dean when long arms wind their way around his torso and Sam’s cheek presses tight to his chest. It feels just like it did when Sam was little and hugged Dean all the time. Dean’s chest floods with warmth and he places his hands on Sam’s shoulders, holding him there for a moment and hears Sam’s muffled “Thanks, Dean,” before he pulls away and flops back onto the mattress. Dean watches him for a moment longer until the snoring resumes and then he gets himself ready for bed.

 

…

 

            The summer slugs by uneventfully. John’s near constant presence is stifling and Sam’s coming departure for Stanford hangs in the air so heavy you could cut it with a knife. Everyone carefully dances around the topic and with each passing day the elephant in the room seems to get bigger and louder, stomping around and driving everyone slowly out of their minds.

            Toward the end of July, they leave Texas and wind up in a podunk town in Illinois. John is hot on the trail of a shifter and can think of nothing else besides mapping out his hunt. Sam is getting more anxious by the day and Dean is drinking far more than he should. If there’s one thing a Winchester is good at, it’s denial.

            By the time August rolls around, John decides it’s time to strike. He throws his bag in the back of his Hummer and tells the boys to “be good,” and, “Dean, look after your brother,” After that, he rolls away down dark asphalt, leaving Sam and Dean and the overbearing thing that they just can’t talk about. The silence in the old house is oppressive. Sam is the one who breaks it.

            “Dean.”

            “Sam,” he says in a warning tone because he knows what’s coming but there’s nothing he can do to stop it.

            “Dean, I leave for Stanford tomorrow.”

            Dean swallows past the lump in his throat that’s been there for months and turns away from his brother. He just can’t look at him. Not when he knows that his Sammy is leaving and he might not ever get him back. It’s difficult to breathe.

            There’s suddenly a hand on his shoulder, a light warm pressure. “Don’t be mad at me, Dean. Please, just…don’t.”

            Dean doesn’t know what to feel. Betrayal. Sam is abandoning him; abandoning the family when they were raised to believe that family is the most important thing in the world and that you _stick together._ Sadness. He’ll be alone with just his dad for the first time since that horrifying blip of time when Sam ran away. He learned from that experience that being away from Sam is a new kind of Hell that reaches straight through his chest and twists his heart. And maybe he shouldn’t feel that way but he does because he loves Sam more than anything and he’s leaving like it’s just nothing. And lurking along with all of those dark emotions is pride. It makes it hard to fight him on this when he’s been rooting for him all along.

            Feelings curl tight and toxic in his gut and he raises his gaze back to meet Sam’s. The breath is punched out of him when he sees the pain in those big hazel eyes and all of the wind falls out of his righteous sails. He deflates, shoulders sagging and all he can say is “I’m not, Sammy.”

            Sam blinks, looks like he’s trying to decide if he believes that. “I’m not doing this to hurt you. You gotta know that.”

            “Does it really make you happy to get away from us, Sam?” Dean asks and his voice is a shredded thing he hardly recognizes.

            “It’s not you I want to get away from, Dean. Never you.”

            “Aw, Sammy,” Dean says in a broken whisper, fingering the front of Sam’s shirt because he needs to touch him somehow. There’s a silence that stretches out while Dean doesn’t trust himself to speak and Sam doesn’t say a word.

            “I’ll drive you to the bus station tomorrow,” Dean finally says and it’s like saying he’ll push him off the edge of the earth.

            Sam does that rapid blinking thing he does when he can’t believe what just happened. “You will?” he asks, his voice hopeful and a slight smile pulling at his lips. It’s almost worth it for that.

            “Yeah.”

 

 

            Sam sets about the business of packing and Dean decides he’s far to sober to handle this right now. He grabs their dad’s bottle of whisky and a water-stained glass down from the kitchen cabinet. He sits down at the table and is just starting to get a good buzz going when Sam wanders back downstairs and stops short in the doorway. “Dean, come on. Not tonight, man.”

            “What?” Dean asks over the rim of his glass.

            “This is our last night together. I’d rather you not be shitfaced.”

            Dean slams the glass back down on the table, amber liquid sloshing out over his hand. He stands and levels Sam with a glare, the threat of tears prickling at the backs of his eyes. “Ya ever think that you just ask too much of me, sometimes? I’m only human, Sam.”

            “What do you mean?” he asks and dear god, he is actually confused. “It’s too much of a hassle for you to spend one night with me not under the influence?” Dean can see the anger and hurt in the very line of Sam’s shoulders. He really doesn’t get it.

            Dean rounds the table until he’s standing in front of Sam, rage and distress rolling off him in waves. “Sam, this is really the only way I can think to get through this night without physically falling apart,” His fists clench and unclench frantically like they just want to grab Sam and hold him there. “You’re breaking my fucking heart here and you’re not even- you don’t- God, Sam,” there’s nothing he can do to stop himself because his heart has always trumped his head.

            He reaches out with those shaking hands and cups Sam’s face. Their first kiss is a surprisingly gentle press of lips, soft and searching like a silent prayer for Sam to somehow have these feelings too. The ones that Dean has wrestled with for years and barely even realized until now. He pulls back and the quiet sound of their lips separating instantly makes him want more.

            Sam is watching him with wide eyes but he isn’t running away. That’s good enough for Dean. He plunges back in with a low, hungry sound, winding his fingers into the curly hairs at the base of Sam’s neck, pulling the boy against him. His mouth is working frantically at Sam’s but he feels the gentle pressure when Sam tries to reciprocate. God. Sam is kissing him back. He groans low in his throat, his other arm winding around Sam’s back, as he breaks the seal of Sam’s lips with his tongue.

            The air huffs out of Sam’s mouth into Dean’s when their chests collide and damn if the feeling of Sam’s breath in his lungs isn’t the best thing he’s ever felt. He probes at Sam’s tongue with his own until he timidly pushes back and Dean takes that opportunity to suck it into his mouth, almost growling with need. Sam’s knees seem to buckle but Dean’s holding him so tight that it hardly matters. A moan passes from Sam’s throat straight into Dean’s and he feels the vibration down to his toes.

            And Sam’s really into it now. He wraps his arms around Dean, hands grabbing and roaming over the wide expanse of his back like he’s trying to memorize how this feels. Dean is. He’ll need it when his Sammy is gone. He wheels them around and shoves Sam against refrigerator, kissing his mouth, his cheeks, his jaw, taking everything he’s ever wanted because this may be his only chance.

            “Need you, Sammy,” he breathes as his mouth mauls the younger boy’s neck, “Fuck, I need you so bad.”

            Sam makes this unbelievable sound and arches his neck back and just says “Yes.”

            Dean could sob and he nearly does. He sucks a bruise onto his baby brother’s neck and grinds the incredibly hard line of his cock into Sam’s. _He’s hard for me._ Sam’s fingers card through Dean’s short hair, scratching over his scalp as he rocks forward into Dean, breathing hard and blushing so pretty.

            “Upstairs,” Dean orders, though the thought of letting Sam go for an instant makes him want to die, “I gotta have you now, baby boy.”

            Sam’s eyes are blown and dark and all he can do is nod dumbly before stumbling towards the stairs, his brother right behind him. Dean rips his shirts off over his head and leaves them where they fall, pushing Sam down onto his bed as soon as they’re in their room. He straddles him immediately, mouth crashing back down onto Sam’s as he rips open the shirt that he should definitely not be wearing. As soon as the skin is bared, he descends on collarbones and nipples, licking and tugging until Sam is writhing beneath him.

            “Please Dean, just. Ahh-nn…” Dean chooses that moment to grab him through his jeans, rubbing his thumb hard across the firm bulge. Sam bucks into his hand, tossing his head and uttering a litany of colorful swears. Dean knows neither of them can handle much teasing so be sits back, going for the fly of Sam’s pants. Sam doesn’t stop him or say a word as Dean practically rips them off, along with his boxers.

            “Oh fuck,” Dean breathes at the sight of Sam hard and wanting below him, “So beautiful, Sammy. Wanna give you everything.”

            “Want it,” Sam manages, his gorgeous cock twitching where it rests against his stomach. Dean’s never used that word to describe a dick before but there’s a first time for everything and hell if it isn’t true. Sam is utterly perfect.

            Dean reverently strokes his hands up Sam’s thighs, his skin so soft here and untouched. He leans down to suck a mark into the junction of his hip and groin and when he pulls away the tender skin is flushed a deep pink. Sam’s panting beneath him, chest rising and falling sporadically, hands fidgeting at his sides. “So pretty,” Dean whispers, pressing a kiss to the head of Sam’s cock which jumps as Sam gasps, hips twitching upward.

            “God, Dean. Please,” Sam begs, a note of desperation clear in his voice. Dean presses the heel of his palm against his own aching erection, groaning loud, “Gotta tell me what you want, Sammy.”

            “You,” Sam replies quickly, splaying his legs obscenely wide and digging his fingers back into Dean’s hair. Dean has to close his eyes for a moment and focus hard on not coming in his pants. His mind is reeling with the implications of that tiny word and he opens his eyes, dragging them up Sam’s chest to his flushed face, his expression so open it _hurts._

            There’s a million things he wants to do to Sam but right now there’s one thing he needs. Cautiously, he dips his hand behind Sam’s balls and presses down questioningly. Sam’s eyes are dark and he just nods fervently, licking his lips. _Christ._ Dean’s heart is pounding like a jackhammer because he can’t believe what Sam has just given him permission to do.   
            “Yeah?” he asks in disbelief.

            “Yeah. Hell yeah. Waited this long, haven’t I?” Dean blinks at him but he can’t stop to ask Sam just how long. Not now.

            He fumbles his way off the bed, scouring in his duffel bag until he comes up with a small tube of lubricant. He clenches it between his teeth and strips out of his pants, getting a little shy when he feels Sam’s eyes all over him. They’ve been naked in front of each other plenty of times before but never like this. Locking his gaze with Sam’s he climbs back onto the bed, crawling into the space left by his brother’s parted legs.

            Slicking up his fingers, he leans down on his other elbow over Sam to kiss his lips as he feels along the cleft of his ass. He strokes over the flickering muscles, rubbing around them until Sam is making choked little noises into his mouth before he eases one finger in past the tight ring. Sam gasps and grips Dean’s shoulders tight as the finger inside him wriggles and crooks a little.

            “Dean. Oh my god, Dean,” he manages to breathe between Dean’s tongue trying to burrow down his throat.

            “Sammy,” Dean says it like a prayer as he works his finger slowly in and out, twisting and stretching before slipping another in beside it. Sam tenses for just a moment before he melts back open, making the sweetest sounds Dean’s ever heard.

            Dean fucks Sam with his fingers until he’s trembling and pushing himself back onto his hand. “You ready?” he asks, his voice low and strained, barely recognizable as his own. Sam replies with a shudder and a chant of “please, please,  please” until Dean works his fingers free and slicks himself up. He grips Sam under the knees, positioning his cock and watching as he sinks it slowly inside his body. He lets out a low groan when he’s in to the hilt and waits, sweat slick chest heaving as exquisite heat grips him tight like he was made for this. For loving his Sammy this way.

            Sam’s face is something so beautiful it aches deep in Dean’s chest. Mouth red and open, eyelashes fluttering, fanning over blushing cheeks. The gravity of the situation suddenly slams into him and he feels like he might sob or explode. He lets go of Sam’s legs to bring their chests together, wrapping his arms around and under Sam so he can kiss his face. His fingers weave into long, silken hair and he peppers Sam’s cheeks and lips with kisses.

            “Love you,” Dean groans, rolling his hips forward, feeling himself rubbing Sam from the inside. “Fuck, I love you so much, Sam.”

            Sam lets out a sharp whine and wraps his legs tight around Dean’s waist, pulling him impossibly closer, “Love you, Dean. Always.”

            Dean loses control and any thoughts of making this last fly out of his head. He rocks in and out of Sam with a frantic rhythm that belies his desperation and his groans might be turning into sobs but none of that matters because of _this_. Sam under him, grabbing at him, clawing fingernail tracks up his back, rolling his hips in a way that makes sparks explode under Dean’s skin. Dean’s mouthing at Sam’s lips, licking past his teeth between gasping breaths because he just can’t stop kissing Sam. He should have known he would be an addiction.

            The throbbing heat builds far too soon and Dean could cry because this might be his only chance. He comes apart seconds later, pumping into Sam with short, erratic thrusts. He yells, dropping his head beside Sam’s as he rides it out until he’s just shaking. With what little coherence he has, he reaches between their bodies to grab Sam’s straining cock but at the first touch, Sam’s coming _. Hard._ He throws his head back, his body bowing up to nearly lift Dean, his inner muscles going so tight he manages to turn Dean’s last waves of ecstasy into another full blown orgasm.

            When it’s finally over, Dean just barely manages to pull out of Sam before he collapses. They lie together in a sweaty heap, Dean weakly tugging Sam into his side. They breathe together, not saying a word and they don’t have to. Not now. They just hold each other until exhaustion finally wins and they both fall into a heavy, dreamless sleep.

 

…

 

            When Dean wakes up, Sam isn’t in his arms. He sits up groggily to take in the empty room and the reality of what they had done. He doesn’t even need to ask himself if he regrets it. He doesn’t and he never will. He grabs up some clean clothes and stumbles to the bathroom to take a shower. It’s not until he’s under the spray of water that he realizes he doesn’t want to wash Sam from his skin.

            He finds Sam sitting at the kitchen table when he makes it downstairs. Sam looks up from his half-drunk cup of coffee and tries a small smile. Dean’s ready to smile back until he sees the bags in a pile by the door. His stomach drops at the realization that what’s transpired between them has changed nothing. Sam is still leaving him. Knowing something in the back of your mind and seeing it up close are two very different things.

            Dean clears his throat and asks, “All ready?”

            Sam bites his lip a little and then nods.

 

…

 

            The silence in the Impala is deafening so Dean cranks up the stereo, trying to sing along like nothing’s wrong but he keeps trailing off, the music white noise in his ears. All too soon, he pulls in to the bus depot and puts her in park. He swallows and the sound is audible.

            “You have your ticket?” He asks, his voice tight.

            “In my pocket,” Sam replies, tapping it for emphasis.

            They stare at each other for a long moment before Sam starts, “Dean-

            “No,” Dean cuts him off with a shake of his head, “You don’t need to say anything. You just need to get on that bus and ride it to a normal, less fucked up life.”

            Sam opens his mouth, then closes it and stares out the windshield. Dean has already begged him to stay, with his body and soul, and he’s not going to do it again. A time of silence passes before Sam looks at him again and says “I’ll call. I will. I’ll call as soon as I get there.”

            “Yeah, you better,” Dean says in a laughing tone that goes tattered at the end. _Hold it together._

            Sam smiles tightly and checks his watch. “Time.”

            Dean feels a sick lurch in his stomach as he slides out of the car to help Sam get his bags from the trunk. Sam slings them over his shoulder and stands there like he doesn’t know what to do so Dean does it for him. He pulls Sam into a fierce hug, just holding him tight, breathing him in. He pulls back with a soft stroke through Sam’s hair and tells him to be good.

            “Bye, Dean.”

            “Bye, Sam.”

            He watches until Sam disappears into the station, giving a final wave, before getting back into the car. He cranks her up and pulls away, back onto the road. _Okay._ The tears come. Dean cries himself hoarse. He cries until he has to pull over to retch violently into the grass but the twisting of his insides just doesn’t stop. It’s a miracle he makes it back to the house without wrecking but he does. He staggers inside and just stands there. It’s like all the air has been sucked out. Everything is too dark and too cold.

            Dean grabs the bottle of whisky and drinks until he sleeps.

 

…

 

            Dean wakes up to the grumbling of an engine. The sound pulses in his throbbing head and he rubs at his eyes that feel raw and dry. The thumping of boots up to the porch startles him into sitting, making his stomach lurch and his head scream in protest. Next thing he knows, John Winchester is striding through the doorway, stopping short at the sight of Dean where he’s sprawled haphazardly on the couch.

            “Christ Dean, you just waking up? It’s past noon.” John’s accusatory tone crawls under Dean’s skin, just skipping the usual guilt and going straight to annoyance.

            “Had kind of a hard night,” Dean replies, swinging his still booted feet to the wooden floor and cradling his head in his hands for a dizzy moment.

            “Are you _hung over_?”

            He doesn’t wait for Dean’s response, just tromps past him and in to the kitchen. “Well get over it quick cause I’m gonna need your help.”

            “Why are you back so soon?” Dean asks, staggering into the kitchen and starting up a pot of coffee.

            “Wasn’t countin’ on there being more than one shifter but turns out there was a whole damn nest. I’m gonna re-strategize and restock and then I’ll need your back up.”

            Dean scrubs a hand over his tired face and roots around until he finds the first aid kit, digging out a few painkillers. He knocks them back with a glass of water and then shuffles into the bathroom. When he’s done, he washes his hands and splashes some cool water on his face but his father’s voice breaks his moment of calm.

            “Dean!”

            “What?” he calls back, trudging back to the kitchen to pour himself some coffee.

            “Where’s your brother?”

            Dean freezes mid-pour and turns around to look at his father, his expression positively glacial. “What do you mean where is he? Probably walking off his numb butt cheeks in California by now.”

            “You let him go?” Dean recognizes his father’s righteous indignation for what it is and is in no mood for his bullshit.

            “Oh I didn’t just let him go, Dad, I drove his ass to the bus station and waved goodbye.”

            John slams his fist down hard on the table and Dean doesn’t even flinch. Not this time. “You had no right to do that, Dean!”

            “And you have no right to say what he can and can’t do! He’s an adult now, Dad, give the guy a chance to make his own choices.”

            “You do realize you just jeopardized your own brother’s safety.”

            Dean’s blood seems to freeze and boil at the same time. He now understands the term “seeing red”. He steps into John’s space, their faces level so he can see the cold fury in his son’s eyes.

            “No Dad. You did that when you dragged us into this fucked up life.”

            He turns away from John before he does something he’ll regret and heads for the stairs. When he comes back down with his bag slung over his shoulder and keys in hand, John demands to know where he’s going.

            “To Bobby’s for a while. I think it’s best if I’m not around you.”

            “Dean.”

            Dean ignores him and slams open the front door. John yells at him from the doorway but that hardly matters by the time he’s just a speck in the Impala’s rearview mirror. He drives until the sun goes down and he has to stop for gas. He stands at the pump and checks his phone, starting to worry about Sam because he said he’d call. As if by some weird telepathy, his phone vibrates in his palm. He flips it open so fast he nearly drops it.

            “Sam?”

            “Hey, Dean.”

            Finally, he can breathe. “Where are you?”

            “Sitting in my new room,” he says and there’s such a lighthearted happiness in his voice that Dean hasn’t heard in a while, “Sorry I didn’t call sooner but I just kinda got caught up, ya know? There was so much to do.”

            “That’s okay, Sammy. As long as you’re safe,” Dean just doesn’t have it in him to be pissed when Sam sounds this happy.

            “Hey, Dean?”

            “Yeah?”

            “Thank you.”

            “For what?”

            “For everything.”

            Dean’s heart seems to pause before kicking back up again and beating twice as fast to make up for it. “Yeah, Sammy.”

 

…

 

            Bobby opens the door and pulls Dean into a hug. Then he makes Dean his favorite for dinner and they talk about things that don’t matter until they retire to the couch for an action movie marathon. They share stories and beer and just enjoy each other’s company like Dean had never done with John.

            “Dean,” Bobby says while the credits roll.

            “Yeah?”

            “Sam’ll be alright.”

            “I know.”

            “You’ll be alright too.”

            They’re silent for a moment and then Bobby gives Dean’s knee a light squeeze before he gets up and goes to the fridge for another beer. Dean puts in another movie. 


End file.
